


Allegretto, Allegro, Vivace

by boom_slap



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, References to ABBA, Sexual Content, Some Humor, This Is STUPID, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap
Summary: A place to gather whatever Belermo drabbles I write. Happy quarantine everyone!
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 121
Kudos: 305





	1. Boyfriend?!

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing some dark shit and I guess this was kind of a refreshment jajajaja

Here are the things Nairobi knows about Berlín: _uno_ , he is a cruel, pretentious asshole; _dos_ , he can be extremely charming and loyal to a fault; _tres_ , his real name is Andrés de Fonollosa; _cuatro_ , he's a filthy womanizer; _cinco_ , he's completely, unequivocally bat-shit crazy, which makes him absolutely unpredictable.

Here's what Nairobi expects from Berlín when the Professor tells them about Río: she expects the man to blame Tokio (not without reason), declare that he is not interested in being helpful in any way and walk out, probably throwing some comment about going back to Italy where he stayed after the heist even though the Professor told him multiple times that it was the dumbest idea ever.

What happens is not something Nairobi would expect: Berlín grins lazily, stretching out in his chair.

"Professor," he purrs, rolling the _r_. "Are we fighting back?"

That night, Nairobi first hears about the _Banco del España_ plan, Berlín's plan.

  
  


Here is what Nairobi thinks when she sees the monastery for the first time: _damn_. She is not surprised when Berlín opens his arms wide, smiling at them, and says: _Mi casa es vuestra casa_. _Of course he would live in a monastery_ , she thinks, _filled with stolen artwork, books and luxurious items_. The chapel is turned into a classroom and they are introduced to three new additions to their little fucked-up family: Marsella, Bogotá and Palermo. The first two are sitting calmly in the back. Palermo, on the other hand, strolls to the front of the class like John Travolta in _Grease_. He is shorter than Nairobi, has a wicked smile and a chipped tooth and he looks like he could be trouble.

" _Damas y caballeros_ ," he begins with a thick argentinian accent. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

" _Compañeros,_ " says Berlín. "Let me officially introduce to you Palermo, our engineer, the co-author of this plan."

_Oh shit_ , Nairobi thinks to herself. They turn to each other, grinning, mirroring one another perfectly. _Ohhh shit._

  
  


The lesson is over and it's been a weird one, with the Professor talking way less than Berlín and Palermo, who seemed to speak as one. Whenever Berlín paused to take a breath, Palermo chimed in, continuing his train of thought, and then it was the other way around.

Berlín gives them one of his half-smiles as he motions towards the corridor.

"Come on," he says. "I'll show you around."

Palermo and the Professor are the only ones to stay behind as the rest of them walk through the monastery with Berlín, who tells them about the deal he has with the prior, about the chants they'll surely have a chance to hear, about the beauty of the place. Nairobi doesn't like pretentious, but she has to admit; she's impressed by these old stone walls.

When they're done, they head to their rooms to unpack, while Berlín and Murillo- no, _Lisboa_ \- retreat to the kitchen to prepare dinner. They end up with a wonderful _fiesta_ , the table is filled with delicious food and drinks and they chat and joke around, marveling at the heist ahead of them.

Palermo is the last one to join them. It's already dark outside and he has changed into a white button-up with an open collar. He stands in the doorway with a bottle of beer he must've just pulled out of the fridge.

"All business is done for now?" he asks, tilting his head to the side, and the Professor nods, looking up at him, a hint of worry crossing his features. He's nervous, Nairobi notes.

"Perfect," Palermo drawls and then the mood shifts completely, and everyone stares as he walks over to Berlín and leans down, right into his space, way too close for anyone who wouldn't like to lose a limb or two.

"Was I good in class?" he asks in a theatrical whisper. Nairobi doesn't even know him, but she already feels sorry for the poor idiot. However, Berlín only looks up at him, cocking one perfectly sharp eyebrow.

For every normal human being, that would be the cue for hurried evacuation. Nairobi stares, and she knows everybody else does too, as Palermo fucking _straddles_ Berlín's lap, hooking his arms around the man's neck. What Nairobi imagines is this: Berlín is going to grab him by the throat and break his spine against the table. What happens instead is this: Palermo clicks his tongue and starts pressing obscene, open-mouthed kisses to Berlín's neck as the other man sits still and quiet, looking down at Palermo, his gaze covered by long, dark lashes.

The table is completely silent and everyone seems to be holding their breath until Palermo speaks again.

"I've heard..." he purrs and drags his teeth over Berlín's throat, almost grinding against him at this point. "That the first rule has been revoked."

"Please, no," Nairobi hears the Professor groan somewhere to her left and she doesn't understand; but then she does, because Berlín's whole face changes, he breaks into a smile, grabs a fistful of Palermo's hair and kisses him, straight on the mouth, and-... God, there's so much _tongue_.

When his hands move downwards to squeeze Palermo's ass, the spell in undone and multiple things happen at once: the Professor snaps: "Berlín, _no_!", strict as if the man was an unruly dog, Helsinki looks away, blushing furiously, Denver actually screams "WHAT THE FUCK", Estocolmo's jaw drops, Lisboa snorts, rolling her eyes, Tokio feigns choking sounds, Bogotá laughs, leaning back in his chair, Marsella tucks his pet ferret under his jacket, no doubt with the intention of saving her from the depravity in front of him, and Nairobi thinks: _That's hot. Like, that's just-... really fucking hot._

They finally break apart and Palermo looks at them over his shoulder, licking his lips. Berlín grins, his hands still plastered onto the other man's ass.

  
" _Compañeros_ ," he says, smug and amused. "Let me introduce to you, yet again, Palermo, our engineer, the co-author of this plan. My boyfriend."


	2. Love Love Peace Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ode to joy playing softly in the background* this is so fucking DUMB I cant believe I wrote this

They are so drunk.  
  
Andrés has somehow convinced the monks to let them hold a party in the courtyard, even after the absolute disaster that was the finale of his wedding reception five years ago. Martín remembers it only vaguely, the only three things he can recall are Bogotá being shirtless, Sergio singing and himself throwing up.   
  
Now, the situation doesn't seem to be going in any different direction and honestly, Martín doesn't mind. He stumbles over to Lisboa and hands her a shot of tequila. She disentangles herself from Sergio and takes it with a grin. Her and Martín are definitely in the best shape out of everyone; Lisboa, because she has self-control and a natural ability to handle alcohol; Palermo, because he used to drink heavily and his body has grown resistant.   
  
Denver has pulled out a huge bluetooth speaker and it's blasting Shakira now, both Nairobi and Tokio shaking their butts to the sound, Bogotá staring at them with his mouth hanging open.   
  
" _Me gusta esa barita._.." Lisboa hums along with the song after taking a shot and she strokes Sergio's beard with her finger. The poor, drunk bastard grins, looking at her with so much love that Martín can't help but laugh. He presses a wet kiss to Sergio's cheek and stands up, a little wobbly.   
  
The next song comes on and Denver makes a whooping sound at the violin intro. He grabs Estocolmo by the waist and starts spinning around to the boyish, honestly awful vocals of the artist.   
  
" _I'm in love with a fairytale_..."   
  
Martín frowns, tilting his head.   
  
"I don't know that one!" he yells and suddenly, half the eyes are on him. Denver and Estocolmo stop right in his face and the man stares.   
  
"No way!"   
  
Martín jumps as Nairobi knocks into him and wraps her arms around his shoulders.   
  
"Oh my God, of course you don't! You ignorant, south-american, poor fucker!" she laughs, swaying, and Martín wants to be angry, but he's… intrigued.   
  
Dever laughs, the sound drilling holes in Palermo's brain.   
  
"Wait," he says. "I have a playlist just for that!"   
  
He runs to get his phone which he uses only for music and Martín looks over at Andrés, who's stretched out in his chair, drunk on red wine. The man grins at him, all lazy and elegant, and Martín knows he must be in for a treat.   
  
Then, ABBA's _Waterloo_ starts playing.   
  
Palermo frowns.   
  
"What does ABBA have to do with any of it?" he asks and Murillo laughs at him.   
  
"They won the 1974 Eurovision!"   
  
Oh _God_. Martín has heard legends about this modern-day recreation of the ancient roman _circus_. He knows that once a year, the bloodthirsty people of Europe cry: _Panem et circenses!_ and then proceed to tear each other to pieces over mediocre music and confusing visuals. The Eurovision apparently is the only plausible reason for the suspiciously long-lasting general peace in the old continent.   
  
Martín shakes his head at Sergio, who clings to his girlfriend, slurring along to the song.   
  
Then, everyone roars something along the lines of : " _Hard! Rock! Hallelujah!_ " (how is hallelujah hard rock, _what is going on_ ) and suddenly, they're dancing, Palermo lost in the middle of it, confused and amused at Marsella who's pretending to be playing an electric guitar. He looks over at Andrés and the man is laughing wholeheartedly.   
  
When the tune changes, Martín has no choice but to learn how to wave his hands around to some english-german-ukrainian-russian atrocity that goes: _Sieben, sieben, ai lyu lyu_. He is terrified and delighted in equal measures.   
  
The next one on the list is a slower, powerful, very dramatic song; Nairobi and Tokio climb onto the tables and they are screeching like two she-cats, completely out of tune.   
  
" _Rise like a phoenix_ _  
_ _Out of the ashes seeking rather than vengeance_ _  
_ _Retribution!_ "   
  
Martín glances at their Professor and chokes on a laughter, because the man is staring at the two girls, mesmerized and so moved by the lyrics that he is actively crying.   
  
The two of them take a bow when their performance is over and Nairobi loses her balance; she is immediately caught by Bogotá who looks as if he'd won a lottery.   
  
Martín takes another shot, but he's quickly being pulled back to dancing, and the next tune is very catchy, reminiscent of Boney M's _Rasputin._ This one, however, mentions... Genghis Khan?   
  
He has no time to think more about this, because Helsinki grabs his hands and they're dancing together, and Martín is hammered, but luckily, he is a natural dancer and his feet follow the quick steps without his mind having to intervene. Still, he closes his eyes because the spinning is making him dizzy; in a good way. He feels light-headed and even the sounds seem blurry in the warmest, most comforting way possible.   
  
The music quickens and Martín laughs as Helsinki keeps spinning him around, once, twice, thrice before he falls into another pair of arms, leaner, but gripping him harder, pulling closer, and he doesn't have to open his eyes because he can already smell his favourite aftershave.   
  
"I'm going to have the rest of this dance. The song is in german, after all," Andrés murmurs into his ear in a rough voice, keeping him in a tight embrace, swinging only a little. " _Denn seiner Kraft konnt keiner widerstehen._.."   
  
"Berlín..." he grins, dreamy.   
  
He opens his eyes as the song ends and Andrés pulls away, turning to their DJ of the night.   
  
"Denver, _Grande amore_ if you will!" he calls.   
  
The dramatic piano intro makes Palermo giggle. But as Andrés starts to sing, he's _into_ it.   
  
Now, maybe Tatiana was the one Andrés dedicated _Ti amo_ to on the day of their wedding, singing it to her with lovely romanticism and playfulness. However, Martín is the one who Andrés serenades with a _fucking italian Eurovision ballad_ , his voice deep and opera-like, and slightly slurred because he's wonderfully intoxicated. Honestly, Martín loves him so much more for it.   
  
" _Dimmi perché quando penso, penso solo a te…_ ” Andrés points at Martín like a rockstar, frowning, all serious and dramatic, and Martín can't help but shake with laughter.   
  
"He is the missing member of _Il Volo,_ suit and all!" Nairobi yells, guffawing as she leans against Bogotá.   
  
Berlín wraps his arms around Palermo again and when the song is over, he kisses him, uncoordinated, messy and perfect. They move back towards the table and fall into Andrés’ chair, and Andrés pulls Martín into his lap, and Martín can't stop laughing as he says: "I get the appeal, now", not thinking about the heist, not thinking about anything as he listens to the rest of the group still singing from the top of their lungs.   
  
He leans against Andrés and not only does he manage not to throw up this time, he even falls asleep like that, with his face hurting from how much he'd been grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone wants these songs in one place: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4v3K7minKxfHfAwo7dTode?si=9nl46Ld_SAKwfitR22Jr-g


	3. It's Not Voyeurism If You're A Caring Friend

Look, Nairobi has mixed feelings about both Berlín and Palermo.

First of all, she is well-aware that they are awful people. As in, _really_ nasty. Berlín is a smug, overconfident asshole and Palermo is a flaming pile of garbage, personality-wise.

Second of all, she is also aware that Berlín is a loyal friend, who was willing to give his life for them in the Mint. As for Palermo, she has to give it to him - he _is_ fun. While Berlín is somehow reserved and obsessed with good manners, never losing his cool, Palermo is openly nuts, loud and unapologetic. He never shuts up, he sings and dances and Nairobi is not afraid to admit that she likes that about him.

She would never say this out loud because they would both murder her, but Palermo’s crazy reminds her of Tokio.

Finally, it’s important to state this: Nairobi has a pair of very well-functioning eyes (she’s a skilled forger, after all). Therefore, she finds both Berlín and Palermo attractive and them together? Sweet Mary mother of Jesus.

Berlín, with his husky voice, sharp features and dark eyes, with an infectious smile and elegant, strong hands.

Palermo, with the way he moves, the way he bites and licks his lips, or throws looks from under his long lashes, his eyes bright and expressive.

They _do_ work well together and while most people, especially the Professor and Tokio, find their constant foreplay insufferable, Nairobi finds it sexy and amusing. Whenever they start clawing at each other in public, she wants to go: _Aright, good sirs. That’s very nice. Keep up the good work._

That’s why it doesn’t bother her whenever she can hear them going at it. She’s been already dealing with Tokio and Río fucking around in Toledo, now there’s the Professor and Lisbon, and Denver and Estocolmo, so what does it matter if two hot men are having sex on a daily basis as well? Nairobi likes it when men moan. Can you blame her?

Still, one Sunday morning, it becomes too much. They only have class in the afternoon, so they get to enjoy a nice, lazy morning. Nairobi has coffee with Helsinki and Estocolmo in the kitchen and then she’s padding back to her room to retrieve her pack of cigarettes. That’s when, walking by Berlín’s room, she hears it.

Now, as stated previously, it’s not uncommon to hear them. But here’s the thing: normally, it’s Palermo who’s being vocal, moaning like a whore, definitely putting on a show for his lover’s entertainment.

This time, she can hear no such thing; instead, it’s only soft panting and guttural groans which she _knows_ are coming from Berlín.

The door is not completely closed and Nairobi thinks: _maybe… he’s hurt? And so, the right thing to do would be to check up on him. Yes_ , she decides. She’s gonna be a good friend.

She leans against the door and pushes it open just a little, with the tip of her finger.

At first, she can’t make out much; there are limbs tangled in the covers, illuminated by the bright morning light going in through an open window. Then, she sees a butt, moving up and back, down and forward. Now, not that Nairobi ever stared at the butts of her estimated colleagues, but this one is definitely Palermo’s.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what’s happening. _No way_.

She holds her breath as the two bodies shift a little and now she can see it clearly - Palermo is lying on top of Berlín, plastered to his back, his hand buried in the other man’s hair, his hips rolling into him, slowly, leisurely, even though Nairobi can see his muscles shaking.

“ _Andrés_ ,” he whispers in a hoarse voice, mouth against the nape of Berlín’s neck and Berlín lets out another groan, coming deep from his chest, a sound of pure pleasure and _satisfaction_.

Nairobi would never have imagined that Berlín could let go like this, could willingly hand control over to another person, could _offer himself_ to anyone. Between him and Palermo, he’s always the epitome of dominance, able to fix the other with one look, owning him in every way. Sometimes, he would be rough, even - Nairobi has seen him pull on Palermo’s hair, making him hiss in pain, she’s seen his nails digging into Palermo’s skin as he held him, and not in bed, no; at the dinner table, during a party or -

She loses her train of thought because Palermo snaps his hips and Berlín makes another sinful sound, throwing his head back and arching his spine. Palermo presses impossibly _closer_ , panting heavily, speeding up -

Nairobi steps away from the door, her whole face burning up. Her heart is pounding in her chest and it’s so _frustrating_ , because it means that these two assholes have some kind of power over her. She needs to get it back as soon as possible.

Quickly, she makes a mental checklist. Helsinki - sadly - is gay, Denver is taken, the Professor is - sadly - taken, Tokio is nuts, Marsella is too much of a mystery. _Fuck_.

Two minutes later, she barges into Bogotá’s room and the man jumps in surprise, dropping his cigarette.

“On the bed,” she snaps. “ _Now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT  
> I DONT ACCEPT CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM ON THIS ONE


	4. La Familia Lo Es Todo

That’s it. Sergio is traumatized.

“ _Hermanito_ , next time, you should remember to knock before you walk in,” Andrés gives him one of his sleazy grins, buttoning up his shirt.

“Into the _dining room_?!” he snaps. He’s about to lose his mind. Murder doesn’t seem like a bad option.

“It is _our_ home, isn’t it?” Martín drawls, wearing the same expression as Andrés, maybe even more smug since he’s still leaning back against the table and doesn’t make a move to pick up his shirt. He tilts his head to the side, as if to _show off_ the hickeys littering his neck and chest.

“What do you mean- It’s Andrés’-,” Sergio grits his teeth and shuts up, because Martín is not exactly wrong. They are a couple, after all. Officially. Sergio still can’t wrap his head around it, even though it’s been five years.

But then again, over that time, he’s done everything in his power not to interact with Martín unless absolutely necessary. At first, he was sure that Andrés agreed to stay with Martín, to be his dumb _boyfriend_ or whatever only so that the man would let him do the heist with Sergio first.

Sergio wanted Martín out of the picture, so he was _not_ satisfied with that compromise and he was proven right once Martín reunited with him and Andrés in Palawan and proceeded to try and rip Sergio’s face apart over _having put Andrés in danger_.

To be honest, to Sergio, Martín is like a stray, rabid cat that Andrés once brought in and decided to keep, despite, well, _everything_.

Interacting with them on a daily basis is more draining than coordinating a heist. There’s no prize at the end. _Murder_ , suggests his very soul, but he tries to stifle his worst instincts.

“Join us next time?” he hears Martín say and he groans, frustrated, running a hand down his face.

“Just-... stop being so ostentatious. You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

“That’s true. Nairobi seems especially _bothered_ ,” Andrés says, fake-innocent, biting at the tip of his thumb as he looks over at Martín who gives a twisted smirk in return.

Sergio stares at them, unrelenting. Finally, Martín sighs and picks up his shirt, goes to leave the room but he stops right next to Sergio and leans in.

“You’re not getting rid of me this time,” he drawls, then walks out. _Wonderful_. 

Sergio steps closer to Andrés, picks up his tie that's been discarded over the back of a chair and throws it at him.

“I’m being serious.”

“Fine,” Andrés rolls his eyes, draping the tie over his shoulders but not tying it. Right. He has Martín for that. “We’ll keep the wildly pornographic in the bedroom.”

He’s about to leave as well but what Sergio says next stops him.

“I don’t understand why you decided to keep him.”

It was meant to be an offside comment, but it weighs heavily in the air and although Andrés has his back turned to him now, Sergio can see his shoulders tense. That’s never a good sign.

“What do you mean,” his brother begins and his voice is soft, but Sergio isn’t fooled. “ _Keep him_?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, please,” Andrés turns to him and his lips are twitching, which means he’s not just angry. He’s _furious_. “Explain what do you think Martín is to me. A pet? A dog, I’m guessing?”

“... I was thinking more like a stray cat,” Sergio murmurs since there’s no point in playing dumb. “Dogs are faithful, at least. They can be trained.”

Andrés’ eyes are piercing enough for Sergio to look away.

“Oh, you’re _so_ right,” Andrés hisses, stepping closer. “He’s such a pet. In bed, I mean. Because in life, he’s my _partner_. I don’t expect you to understand the nuances of a relationship built on a _real_ connection, since it took you what, five days to get involved with that woman? Less, even. You left her the coordinates and put us all in danger.”

Sergio clenches his fists, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, did I hit a sensitive spot here? You know I’m right. You bored me to death with your speeches on love, but you ended up _completely_ blinded by it. The thing is, dear Sergio, if someone is going to ruin this plan, it’s your woman, not Martín. She’s only obsessed about you. He, on the other hand, is obsessed both about me… and the plan.”

“His woman has a name,” they both turn around to see Raquel standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, unimpressed.

Surprisingly, Martín is standing right next to her, his arms folded over his chest as he sends Sergio a death glare.

 _Great_.

“ _Raquel_ ,” Andrés flashes his teeth. “My dear almost-sister-in-law. Forgive me for being crude, but Sergio here dared to offend my love.”

“Next time,” Martín says. “You should try offending me to my face, Sergio. I’m sure it’s going to be very fun.”

Sergio stares at him, his hand twitching as if wanting to wrap itself around Martín’s throat.

“Fine,” he answers, deadpan. “I’m going to do just that.”

The tension in the air seems suffocating, with both Andrés and Sergio almost shaking with anger. They both frown in surprise, though, as Raquel turns her head to Martín and says:

“You were right, they _are_ similar. It’s creepy.”

Martín gives her a wide grin.

“I know. We’ve gotten ourselves into a problematic family.”

With that, they both turn around and walk out of the room, leaving the brothers speechless.


	5. Finally, Some Good Fucking Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S FLUFF FOR YOU, KAREN

The most fundamental part of Andrés de Fonollosa, if you ask Raquel, is the fact that he’s utterly _exhausting_ to be around.

His boyfriend? She can deal with. He’s an asshole as well, but the masks he tries to hide behind are nowhere near as perfectly crafted as Andrés’, he’s way too impulsive and emotional for that. It’s easy to see through him and make him drop his act.

Andrés on the other hand can carry on with his teasing and bantering for _hours_ and it makes Raquel roll her eyes so hard.

She met him as Berlín in the Mint and she immediately learned the following: he was irritating, narcissistic, misogynic, power-hungry and so smug it made her want to punch him in his stupid face for the whole time she was there.

While making the decision to be with Sergio, had she known that de Fonollosa was his brother, she would’ve said: _No, thank you, you’re very smart, very nice and the sex is surprisingly good, but it’s not worth having that man as an in-law._

However, her dearest Sergio _forgot_ to mention it until she arrived in Palawan, walked into the house and saw Berlín sprawled out on the couch, being fed grapes by some other man.

“Andrés is my brother,” Sergio explained awkwardly, then. “And that’s Martín, his-...”

“Lover,” de Fonollosa finished with a grin.

“ _Enchanté_ ,” Martín said back then, butchering the french accent mercilessly.

To summarize, Raquel had to deal with the infernal duo for longer than the rest of the team. Luckily, they never spent more than two days at their home, mostly due to some obscure animosity between Sergio and Martín.

  
  


In the monastery, they’re all forced to live together and Raquel finds herself learning more about her unofficial in-law, mostly against her will.

Some things she learns are more surprising than others, for example: one time, she wanders into the kitchens they share with the monks and finds Andrés in the middle of baking.

The image is more than bizarre: the man is still dressed in a white shirt and dark-grey suit pants, but he’s also wearing a red apron, his sleeves rolled up over his elbows as he mixes some kind of batter.

She knows he can cook, but _this_?

“You can _bake_?” she steps closer, taking in the ingredients lined neatly along the counter: sugar, cocoa powder, a bowl filled with espresso, ladyfingers, eggs, Amaretto.

“It’s an art,” the man raises his eyebrows, turning to her. He smirks when Raquel sputters and snorts at the sight that is his apron in all of its glory - _b_ _esa al cocinero_ , it says.

“We’ll see if you’re any good of an artist when you’re done,” she shrugs when she’s done laughing, taking a seat by the counter and folding her arms over it.

“You want to learn something? Sergio praised your mother’s culinary skill, but he never mentioned yours, which makes me believe it’s nonexistent.”

“I can shoot a gun better than you, though, so I would be careful with comments,” Raquel gives him a tight smile and Andrés laughs.

It’s actually pleasant to watch him, though. They don’t talk anymore and thank God for that, but there’s soft music playing from the recorder Andrés must’ve brought from his room and it’s all very… calm. The word _domestic_ comes to her mind and Raquel shivers in horror at the thought.

After a moment, Martín barges into the kitchen, grinning.

“There you are! What are we making? Ohh, tiramisu? Amazing,” he walks over and reaches for the batter, but Andrés slaps his hand away before he can actually put it in the food. Martín pouts, reaches for the Amaretto instead and takes a swig.

“You’re so disgusting,” Andrés says, but there’s fondness in his voice; a fondness he only ever directs at Martín or Sergio. “We’re in the company of a lady.”

“Oh, _discúlpame_ , _senhora_. You want some?” he offers the bottle to Raquel and she shakes her head, amused. Martín shrugs and sits on the counter, watching Andrés bake, nodding his head along to the music.

Raquel rests her head on her arms and marvels at the fact that she’s enjoying spending time with these two demons.

The tiramisu ends up being delicious and this whole thing becomes kind of a custom.

  
  


“What are we eating today?” Martín asks, walking in. He rarely arrives before Raquel and she is actually impressed that he’s able to silence his usually crazy jealousy and let her spend some time with Andrés without him.

“ _Quiche aux épinards, chèvre et saumon_ ,” Andrés says, the words rolling easily off his tongue. Martín grabs him by the apron and pulls him closer, smiling.

“Talk dirty to me,” he purrs and Raquel snorts into her glass of wine.

“Raquel here,” Andrés nods at her, wrapping his arms around Martín's waist. “Did a very decent job at blanching the spinach just moments ago. How about you help me with the crust?”

“Mmm, sure.”

Andrés pulls away from him and hands him the flour, the butter and the eggs, all measured-out already.

“You chop the butter while it’s cold, then knead it into the flour and add the eggs at the end. And two pinches of salt, if you will.”

Martín nods. Suddenly, he looks very serious; frowning with determination, he gets to work. Raquel tries to hide her amused smirk, but Andrés catches it and smiles right back at her.

As Martín is kneading the dough, he moves to stand behind him, chest to back, chin on his shoulder. He sneaks his arms around the other man and presses his hands further into the soon-to-be crust.

“A little bit harder, love,” he says in a low voice. “Put your back more into it.”

Martín grins, going boneless against him.

Raquel clears her throat loudly, raising an eyebrow as they both look at her, their expressions comically identical, refined into pure innocence.

“It’s actually impressive,” she says, “how you can turn absolutely anything into an innuendo.”

“You should try it with Sergio,” Martín winks, nuzzling Andrés’ cheek. “He used to get very flustered whenever I tried flirting with him.”

Raquel straightens her back, throwing her hair over her shoulder and fixing Martín with a stare.

“You flirted with my boyfriend,” she states more than asks and Martín bites his lips.

“You know, I thought I didn’t have a chance with this one,” he presses himself even closer to Andrés. “So I thought I would settle for the other brother.”

Raquel is still glaring.

“ _Es broma_ ,” Martín purrs then. He exchanges a meaningful look with Andrés and the other man gives him a wide grin, full of teeth and delight. 

Raquel doesn’t bother; she just shakes her head and sips on the wine.

A week later, all three of them are making tartlets with lemon curd and an italian meringue. Andrés is giving out orders, but given both hers and Martín’s lack of experience, it quickly turns into absolute hell.

“If you call me _incompetent_ on more time, then I swear to God, I’m going to put that knife straight through your-”

“ _Corazón!_ The sugar syrup is _not working_ ,” Martín snaps, anger and frustration clear even in the endearment.

“That’s because Raquel here didn’t heat it up to _exactly_ 121 degrees-”

“I did, it’s Martín who waited too long to pour it into the whites!”

They are yelling at each other over the rattling mixer, loud enough to attract attention.

They do indeed, the doors open and Sergio stops in the doorway, his expression going from alarmed to angry to confused to _exhausted_ in about two seconds.

“What,” he groans, “are you doing?”

Martín drops the mixer and it splatters the ruined meringue everywhere, all over their clothes and faces.

There is a heavy silence, broken finally by Andrés who has the audacity to gather some of the meringue from the side of Raquel’s face with his finger and put it straight into his mouth.

“... family bonding time,” he says, deadpan.


End file.
